


Early Mornings

by duplicitous_pelican



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Face-Sitting, Morning Sex, One Night Stands, idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicitous_pelican/pseuds/duplicitous_pelican
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	Early Mornings

Here's the thing. You don't stay overnight. It's just a rule you've had for yourself for the last decade. So when you wake up, panicked because you don't recognize the wallpaper or the feel of the sheets beneath you or...the absolute mass of warm man-flesh next to you, one muscular arm laid over your stomach, that you're not quite sure what to do with yourself. 

Even if you could heave yourself out from under the deadweight of this arm that feels like it's the size of a small maple tree, you don't remember where you dropped your clothes, or your shoes, or fuck, even your purse. This is why you don't do overnights because morning is where the panic sets in. The regret of another night filled with a decent fuck, a well-intentioned lover, and one more story for the novel you'll write when you turn 80. But regret all the same. It's not the sex you regret - no, that's always been relatively good, though last night was the exception, to be sure. The hazy memories of a string of orgasms beginning to form in your mind. 

You shut your eyes, focus on your breathing (hard to do with said tree limb across you, but you manage), shut down the panic and the regret, and try to form an escape plan. 

And then he kisses the back of your neck like this is any typical fucking Sunday morning, pulling you back into his embrace, one broad palm resting on your chest, his forearm resting half on and half between your breasts. 

Here's the other thing that comes in the morning. The fact that despite all your suave efforts and most charming acts the night before, you have absolutely no fucking chill. And who would, when they fucked Henry Cavill for most of the night, and possibly again early this morning (you weren't looking at the clock, so it's a guess). 

"Morning," he murmurs, another kiss against the back of your neck, his face nuzzling against your hairline. 

"...howdy…" you say, and then immediately cringe, because what the fuck is wrong with you? 

There is a moment of stillness between you both. You're hoping he didn't hear you, and him probably wondering how the hell he can find his phone to get his handler to dispose of you. But then he laughs, and you can feel his body shake against yours for a moment before he turns you in his arms, so you're facing him. 

God, he looks gorgeous. Even with bed head, his stray curls going in a multitude of directions, and a day's worth of stubble, he looks good.

"I can hear your brain working in overdrive, Plum," Henry says, and he reaches one of those large, broad hands up to your face, cupping your cheek and your jaw and half your head basically, with just the span of his hand. "Relax." 

"I'm not very good at mornings," you admit, honestly. Giving a small half-shrug like that can explain all of your weirdness. "Normally, I...leave before the sun comes up." 

Henry smiles softly at you, the dimple on his cheek appearing before he leans in and kisses you. It's softer and sweeter than the night before, and you feel yourself melting into it, one hand sliding up his chest, his chest hair soft and sparse beneath your palm, the other cupping his jaw. 

12 hours ago, you'd been all but ravenous for one another. You'd barely made it up the elevator and into his room before he'd slammed you against the inside of the door. Your panties had ended up somewhere, and he'd dropped to his knees in front of you, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder as his mouth descended between your legs. 

The kiss ends slowly, and you're almost reluctant to pull your mouth away, but eventually, you do, and you meet his slate blue-grey eyes. 

"Hi," you say, cheeks turning a little pink, but you're starting to feel less awkward, a little more at ease, a little more confident in the fact that in the warm hazy glow of morning, he still wants you. 

"Better?" he asks, and you nod, letting out a little sigh as you feel his other hand slide along your side, squeezing your hip and pulling your thigh up over his. It's then that you remember you're still incredibly naked, and that movement puts you closer to him, to the thick, ready, length of him. 

"Much," you whisper, closing the minute distance between you, the steady thump-thump of your heart beating in your chest in time to a similar aching throb in your clit. You're tender and swollen from the night before but fuck if your body doesn't respond to him in a way it hasn't with other less fortunate lovers. 

"Mmm, rock your hips, Plum. Let me feel you." His already low voice still carries the rasp of the morning, and the urgency of his request does things to you. And by that, you definitely mean you absolutely grind yourself against his dick, biting your bottom lip as the head of his cock bumps up and over your clit. 

"Fuck," you say, trying to find traction on the mattress as you writhe against him. "I just need…" The words catch and disappear in your mouth as he heaves you up and over him, seating you right where you both want it. The new angle gives you the traction you were looking for, and you can't help but buck against him, over him. "Shit...yes…yes." 

He watches you, thoroughly amused, his hands resting on your hips, before moving them to slide up and down your thighs, all the time his breath coming in short spurts as he tries to keep some semblance of control. 

You realized early on in last night's rendezvous that Henry is an incredibly tactile person. You'd expressed interest last night, and there had been no going back. He'd been quick to get his hands on you, a soft palm at your back as he led you out of the restaurant or the harsh grip of his thumb and forefinger on your chin/jaw when he'd finally kissed you properly, right there in the elevator, between floors 15 and 16.

"I'm already close," you sigh on a ragged breath, your palms flat against his chest, your hips moving almost violently in their desire to chase your impending orgasm. 

"Not yet," Henry says. "I want to taste you again." His hands-on your thighs tighten, stopping you from moving.

"But…" you begin. 

"That too if you're a good girl," he says with a smirk, and you roll your eyes, which lands you a tight hard swat across one ass cheek. 

You're about to admonish him, but he's already pulling you up toward him and sliding down. Then suddenly, you're rocking forward to grip the headboard as you find yourself unsteadily kneeling over Henry's face. 

His breath is hot against you, and he teases you with kisses on the insides of your thighs, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin. You jump slightly when you feel the hot slide of his tongue along the delicate skin between your thigh and your pussy. 

You can feel him shift slightly, his thumbs sliding over you, parting you to finally press his mouth over your clit.

"Henry…." You drag out the last syllable of his name, your voice keening high as he swipes his tongue over you. Soft and slow, alternating with a hungrier, needier want, sucking your clit until you reach down and sink your fingers into his curls. Your fingers curl around the soft strands as you hold his head still and grind yourself down against him and finally, almost painfully, tip over the edge. 

You're hardly aware of him moving as you let yourself collapse back on the mattress, your body still recovering as he slips back into the bed behind you. He's slipped on a condom, and he takes his time, teasing your already tender flesh before fitting the fat head of his dick at your entrance. 

"Good?" He asks, his mouth against the shell of your ear. 

"Mmhmm," you mumble because it's all you can coherently think right now because despite having just orgasmed, your body is aching for him, needing to feel as full as you did when he took you for the first time last night. When you came riding the very precipice of pain and pleasure. 

He takes it slow, knows he's worked you over more times than either of you are accustomed to, but you don't know the next time your schedules will align, and hell if you're not going to make the absolute most of this 24 hours. 

"Fuck," he growls, and you can tell he's trying to hold back. "Feel so fucking good. You like this?"

"Yes, god, yes," you answer. You reach up to hold his shoulder, anchoring yourself as he starts to move fast, his thrusts becoming less measured, a staccato of movements until he presses you deep into the mattress with a loud groan. 

Soon you'll have to move, find your clothes, and get dressed. Still, for now, you're content to lie absolutely embraced by this gorgeous man, who smells like wood and leather, and the potential for another round of questionable yet satisfying decisions.


End file.
